When I meet up to the first agent, who I shot in the arm, I pounce on top of him, gripping his throat. “Why are you here?” I shout.
“You know why I’m here,” he says with a small laugh.
I press the barrel of my gun to his forehead, teeth bared. “I swear to God, I will kill you right now. Who sent you?” I ask the question, but I already know who. I know exactly who sent him.
He continues his stupid, devious smile. “She was right. You are fierce. Shooting a DEA agent. That’s life right there, slut.”
“Why are you working for her? What the fuck does she want!” I press harder, gripping his throat tighter. He struggles with his words now, trying hard to squeeze them out behind my hand.
“She…wants…you…found…” He runs his tongue over his lips as footsteps pound into the asphalt behind me, and the engine of the jet grows louder. “And dead.”
My vicious scowl fades, my features collapsing. I stare into his eyes, and just as he starts up a crackly chuckle, as if he’s gotten under my skin, my gun goes off, and his blood is leaking from his skull and onto the ground.
“Fuck, Gia!” Clark grabs my arm, yanking me off of the agent. “Your fucking DNA is going to be all over him!”
I glare up at him. “I don’t give a shit! He worked for her! He was on her fucking payroll! If I hadn’t killed him, he would have killed me!”
“Shit. Well, we can’t just leave those bodies out here.”
“I know we can’t, that’s why they’re coming on the jet with us.”
Clark’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “Their blood is going to be all over my dad’s jet—on the private air strip only he and a few other businessmen use. They’ll come for him eventually, when they see these agents missing.”
“Send someone to ditch the car, Clark. We’ll take the bodies over the border and ditch them, too. We’ll burn the jet. He can always get a new one. My dad always told me material things are easily replaceable.” I turn around and grab the agent’s wrists. “Help me carry him.”
Clark stares down at me in utter disbelief, but he doesn’t speak on it anymore. Instead he bends down, grabbing the agent’s ankles and walking backwards with his body.
We bring it onto the jet, dropping it into one of the empty seats. We do the same with the other agent, who is a little heavier, but we make do, strapping their bodies into the seats.
The second agent’s breath snags.
“This one is still alive,” I murmur.
Clark dashes off the plane and hops into the SUV. He drives toward a tree a few yards away and parks. He returns with a burner phone and sends someone a text, and then he looks up at me. “Someone will come for the truck.”
I nod, sitting on the opposite side of the breathing agent.
“Are we ready to take off, Travis?” I call.
“Yes. All clear.”
Good.
Clark straps in, and I do the same, but I don’t take my eyes off those guards, especially the dead one. His blood still leaks, dripping onto his jacket and the leather seat.
I finally pull my eyes away when the wheels of the jet leave the runway and we ascend, the turbulence rocking me about.
My finger doesn’t let up around my trigger. My heart is still banging like a drum. I don’t know what the hell I’ve just done, but if anyone important finds out, I’m sure I will become a wanted woman after this.
“People will investigate,” Clark warns.
“Then let them investigate. If your people are good, they shouldn’t find a trace of that truck.” I look at the one who’s unconscious. “They’re dirty agents, Clark. You really think they filled people in on their whereabouts?”
Clark runs a rough hand over his face. “Big Jack loves this fucking jet, Gia. I hope your master Jefe makes it right by buying him a new one.”
I roll my eyes, looking out of the window, where the mountaintops and clouds are not too far below. “He will. We just have to get to him first.”
24
GIANNA
Travis informed us that it would be a six-hour flight.
After making a subtle pit stop on a private strip on land owned by a man Big Jack pays off, we are on our way to Mexico City.
“Do you even know where to go to find him?” Clark asks, pacing back and forth now. He’s nervous. He’s been pacing ever since we were given the opportunity to walk.
“He has a home in Los Cabos,” I answer. “I was there for a few days. If we can get to Cabos, I’m hopeful he’ll have someone around, and we can get them to take us to him.”
He stops walking, looking me hard in the eyes. “They’re gonna shoot us on sight if they see us. You don’t just pull up to someone’s private home—a kingpin’s home at that—and expect to not get shot at.”